Arty visits the Bark Park

If I were a dog, and my owner took me to a bark park, I'd do what my dog did — put my tail between my legs, hover as close as possible to my owner and mingle with others very cautiously.

Barbara Presnell

If I were a dog, and my owner took me to a bark park, I'd do what my dog did — put my tail between my legs, hover as close as possible to my owner and mingle with others very cautiously.My niece, Laura, and her husband, Andy, invited us and our dogs, Arty and Sam, to join their dog Bailey at the Jaycee Park in Greensboro. They know that Arty has his issues, and we don't always know when that aggressive muscle in him will flex. Still, the exposure and play would be good for him. He'll have a ball, we all knew. This was Sunday, and after church, we packed towels ("they'll need baths when they're through playing," Andy said), water ("they'll be thirsty from playing so hard"), poop bags (to be nice) and headed off to Greensboro. The Bark Park is located at the corner of Battleground and Pisgah Church Road. You go in the entrance to Jaycee Park, through the long, windy parking lot where you unload your dogs, and then walk down and around a long asphalt path that leads to the park. Bailey, their extroverted and adorable mutt, was already there, out of the car, bouncing around the parking lot when we pulled up. Bailey is 2 1/2, medium-sized, mostly white/blond, scruffy, and she is completely lovable. My Arty is 3 1/2, medium-sized, solid black and equally lovable, but filled with insecurities. What we were hoping is that Bailey and Arty would be fast friends, but instead they lunged at each other, teeth bared. "I've never seen Bailey do that," said my niece. I've seen Arty do it plenty. "They'll be fine when they're off leash," we agreed. Walk, walk, walk down to the bark park. Along the walk, we passed our friend, Donna, who was baby-sitting her nephew's dog, Phoebe, and she'd just left the dog park. "It's great," she said. "Phoebe had so much fun." When at last we arrived and stepped through the gate, Andy unhooked Bailey's leash, and she was off. Like a flash of lightning, she raced to the center of the action, jumped right into the whip lines of dogs sniffing dogs, and the only times we saw her for the next hour were when she flashed by, a little muddier each time, or when she checked in with her people just to make sure they were still there. Arty attached himself to my leg. In a few minutes, he dared to step away and was immediately spotted by a wolf-size shepherd, the biggest dog in the lot. I mean big. Twice Arty's size, hairy, extroverted. Arty's tail went so far between his legs it almost touched his whiskers, and he hunkered down and raced to his safety circle around our legs. The shepherd got the message, trotted off to be with some other dogs like him. And so it went. Oh, Arty was interested, all right, but not brave enough to leave us for long. Whenever he tiptoed out to sniff or play, he'd be chased back home to our legs. Once a group of five or so dogs chased him, in play, but he didn't think it was fun. It's not easy to run with your tail between your legs, I've learned, but run he did. When finally they circled him, he bared his teeth. This was real life. He meant business. Like the shepherd, these dogs also got the message, backed off and left him alone. Once or twice, Arty went down on his front paws to invite play, but his offer was never accepted.Meanwhile, our little 15-plus-year-old Sam, in her own world, trotted the perimeter of the park, sniffing her way around the edges. As always, everyone wanted to pet her, and she loved being petted. Other dogs left her alone to trot around — she was one of the smallest, and I'd guess by far the oldest, of the dogs there. She was happy as could be. The afternoon sun felt good. She could wander, sniff, wander, sniff. By the time we were ready to leave, Bailey the white dog was muddy all over, especially on her feet. She was exhausted. She'd run miles and miles in that short time, had made new friends, was ready to head home and dream about it for the rest of the night. Sam was tired but happy. Her feet were a little muddy from some more extreme areas she'd explored, but otherwise her coat was clean and blond, as always. Arty had progressed very little, and he wasn't the least bit muddy. I was surprised. But why was I? "It's who he is," my husband said. He's insecure and, now I know, an introvert. I'd never realized that about him, but now I'm more endeared to him than ever. How scary to be thrown into a mix of strangers and expected to have fun. I'd be miserable. My tail would be between my legs for days afterward.I get that. I get it so well. He's my dog, through and through. Barbara Presnell is a poet and teacher of writing who lives in Lexington. Contact her at www.barbarapresnell.com.